


Dean Winchester has a String of Minor Strokes (And Castiel Gets Some Sleep)

by YamiTami



Series: A Collection of Scenes Which Never Quite Made it into the Book of Chuck (Even Though Becky would have Loved it if They Had) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: As usual I am a horrible person who giggles madly while Dean is uncomfortable, Becky would be my homegirl, Fallen Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm really reaching for tags here, If I was a fanfic author in their 'verse then I'm pretty sure they would hate me, M/M, is anyone even reading this, she would understand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiTami/pseuds/YamiTami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I would...” Castiel started haltingly, “I would learn how to sleep as a human does, through the night. I can no longer sustain myself on ‘power naps’... and it is not fair to ask you to watch over my sleep even for those short periods of time.”</p><p>Dean waved his hand in a see here gesture. “Cas, it’s cool. I don’t mind doing research for a few hours while you get your forty winks.”</p><p>Castiel, the almighty angel who tore a man’s soul from the pits of Hell, the creature who was an extension of Heaven’s righteous arm, the ethereal creature who was raw power and fury and will wrapped up in a human body and a tan trench coat... he was tired. He was so tired. He was looking up at Dean with the most pitiful, pathetic look on his borrowed face. The face that wasn’t borrowed anymore, a secondhand body that was his prison. Like a ratty plastic bag cutting off circulation to a bird’s wings until there was nothing left but raw bloody stumps.</p><p>Dean did this to him.</p><p>“It’s okay, Cas,” he said softly. “You can stay with me tonight.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester has a String of Minor Strokes (And Castiel Gets Some Sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> Rated teen since Dean slips into a sexy place in his head for a few sentences.

“... Uh, Cas? You wanna run that by me again?”

Dean stood there gaping at the angel sitting on the motel bed. Castiel looked at the floor. It was a habit he’d picked up since he started to seriously fall; anytime those blue eyes were studying the carpet it meant that Cas didn’t want to admit that some part of being human was frustrating him. Dean saw it happening more and more lately. Part of that was because Castiel was around more—it had been two weeks since the angel had decided to travel with the brothers full time—but most of it was because Cas was growing more and more lost the further he fell.

The memory of Future Cas was still crystal clear in Dean’s mind. The sex-addicted miserable stoner who thought he was useless—at the time it had been funny because Dean couldn’t imagine Castiel turning out that way. Dean thought it was just another layer of the manipulation, just a case of Zachariah going over the top to show how awful it would be if Dean didn’t play ball. He was starting to realize that good old asshole Zach might not have been lying, at least, not about all of it. Dean knew well enough that the most convincing lies were built on a foundation of truth. Even if Dean hadn’t been sent through time— _again_ —Zachariah would have based his little nightmare on believable things. Everything going to shit, yeah, makes sense. The demons using Croatoan as the endgame, sure. Chuck telling him to hoard toilet paper like it was gold, sounds about like a desperate dramatic writer trying to make a practical point. Even the way Dean himself turned out, who quite frankly could be summed up with the phrase ‘massive dick’... Dean could see that. He could see the bitterness finally getting to him. 

But _Cas_. His transformation was borderline absurd. Dean could see the angel letting go a little bit, maybe learning not to take things so literally and being a little less of a killjoy when it came to Dean’s eating habits, but the idea that he would turn out like _that?_ It was ridiculous. It was unbelievable. It was what Dean held onto as proof that the future universe was just a big lie. When he started to wonder if Sam would give in to Lucifer he always came back to how over the top Future Cas was.

Now though... Dean could see it. He could see how Future Cas started down that road. And the second Sam had verbally pinned the angel down until Castiel admitted that he couldn’t keep going like he had been going, Dean though about how Future Cas might not have hated himself so much if Future Dean had been there for him. Zachariah’s little mindfuck taught a useful lesson after all; Dean was not going to let his Cas down. He’d do whatever it took to keep the fallen angel out of that metaphorical pit, and he’d feel guilty about it the whole time because when it came down to it Cas rebelled for _Dean_. It wasn’t even Castiel’s own reservations about the whole mess that tipped him over that line; it was one dumb human talking him into it. Dean couldn’t quite regret that, even knowing what it was doing to Cas, because the alternative was the angel staying under the thumb of the idiots who thought that setting Lucifer loose on Earth was a good idea. Realizing that Cas’s choices came down to being a pawn to psychopaths in Heaven or miserable and alone on Earth...

Dean _swore_ to himself that he wouldn’t fail his angel the way Future Him had.

Which was probably why the universe was doing its best to make that decision as difficult as possible. Or at least as awkward as possible.

Cas, his eyes still on the floor, took his time in repeating himself. Dean forced his instinctive panic down. As uncomfortable as this was for him it had to be a million times worse for Cas and he had promised himself that he would take care of the fallen angel.

“I would...” Castiel started haltingly, “I would learn how to sleep as a human does, through the night. I can no longer sustain myself on ‘power naps’... and it is not fair to ask you to watch over my sleep even for those short periods of time.”

Dean waved his hand in a see here gesture. “Cas, it’s cool. I don’t mind doing research for a few hours while you get your forty winks.”

“Those naps will only become less effective, and more frequent.” Castiel’s eyes never left the ground and his voice was falling into a gravelly mumble. “I cannot continue this way. At the same time, the thought of remaining motionless and unaware for several hours, open to attack...” He laughed humorlessly, something so 2014 it made Dean’s hands clench in anger at Heaven’s angels for doing this to Cas. “I don’t know how you humans do it.”

“Practice,” Dean answered with a forced shrug. “It’s all it is. When I found out what Dad was doing I had a hard time sleeping too. Monsters under the bed and all. But I got over it.” He took a step forward and laid a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “You will too.”

Castiel, the almighty angel who tore a man’s soul from the pits of Hell, the creature who was an extension of Heaven’s righteous arm, the ethereal creature who was raw power and fury and will wrapped up in a human body and a tan trench coat... he was tired. He was so tired. He was looking up at Dean with the most pitiful, pathetic look on his borrowed face. The face that wasn’t borrowed anymore, a secondhand body that was his prison. Like a ratty plastic bag cutting off circulation to a bird’s wings until there was nothing left but raw bloody stumps.

Dean did this to him.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said softly. “You can stay with me tonight.”

The look of deep, weary gratitude was too much to stand. Dean looked at the wall and cleared his throat. It was going to be a long night.

Sam was infuriatingly understanding about the whole thing. Which was good, Dean supposed, but he still kind of wanted to punch his brother. When Dean tried to casually slip it into conversation and probably ended up babbling like an idiot Sam just nodded and said it made sense, and that when you thought about it sleeping _was_ kind of a weird thing to do, and that there were only two beds anyway, and that Cas would be more comfortable with Dean not only because of past history but also because Sam was dashingly tall and Dean was this tiny little leprechaun. Dean did punch his brother then, if only in the arm, and stalked off after grumbling about how if he was really a leprechaun Sam would be down a femur or two and probably drowning in his own blood. Boy, did that case ever kill Dean’s fondness for Lucky Charms.

Once Cas started hiding his yawns Sam continued to be annoying in an almost helpful way, making the sleeping arrangements about cash and his own long frame instead of about a fallen angel’s insecurities. In Dean’s opinion Sam was laying it on way too thick, but Cas seemed to appreciate the excuse. In one form or another none of them liked feeling weak, by different definitions maybe but it was a feeling they could all understand, and with Cas it was a whole different magnitude. It wasn’t just feeling like a pawn of Heaven and Hell. It wasn’t as cerebral and complicated as politics. It was losing his abilities, his _wings_.

Dean wasn’t the best at interpersonal things, at least, not when it was honest. But even though he would sometimes forget when tempers flared, when one of them rubbed the other the wrong way, Dean never forgot that Cas turning human was the equivalent of a human losing their arms, legs, hearing, sight, and about a dozen other things. He never forgot. Most of the time he just didn’t know how to deal with it.

Pulling back the covers was definitely one of those times. After an excessive amount of needling from his brother Dean had changed into the sweats he usually kept on hand for belly wounds. It felt weird, sleeping in something that would actually be considered pajamas when he wasn’t bleeding. Sam claimed that Dean’s habit of sleeping in his clothes was interfering with the quest to teach Cas how to be a normal human being.

Dean wasn’t sure that was a fight they were ever going to win, but more importantly, he wasn’t sure if it was a fight they should be fighting.

But that was an existential crisis for another day. Right then and there Dean had to deal with Cas in a thin white tee and too loose pants riding low on his sinful hips and fuck but he was not cut out for this. Dean didn’t have the self control for this. He was going to have to lay there all night with this gorgeous man inches away. Except he wasn’t a man, he was a wavelength of celestial intent trapped in a man’s body and he was new to being human and he was an innocent virgin and Dean couldn’t stop thinking about how _good_ it would be to dirty him up. Lick a wet path down the tendons in his throat, kiss the inside of a trembling knee, work his way up until Cas was a squirming mess—

Dean excused himself to the bathroom and stuck a cold beer down his pants. He hated it when he found his thoughts drifting that way, when he couldn’t stop but think about Cas that way... more so since it wasn’t just a shallow attraction anymore. When Dean was first teaching the unexpected angel about personal space, sure, he noticed the lips and the jaw and the eyes—how could you not notice the eyes—but that’s all it was. Strange, powerful being in a hot body, saved him from literal Hell, sure he had a little bit of a lustful crush. But that was before Dean got to know the angel. Now... now he wanted to take care of Cas. It wasn’t just his hormones running wild; it was a much more dangerous desire to protect his angel, to take care of Cas, and that was feeding the fire of the more conventional desire.

Usually, Dean could shove that want under a layer of guilt and shame. Walk out of the room, talk to Sam, think about some of the horrible things he’s seen. But he was going to be stuck there for hours. If he kept getting up then Cas wouldn’t be able to sleep at all and the whole thing would be pointless. It was Dean’s fault that Cas was like this and he couldn’t even shut his own stupid dick up for long enough to help him through.

Dean walked back into the main room and then practically dove under the covers, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and resolutely crossed his arms and bunkered down. He heard Sam say something about staying up a bit to do some preemptive research—Dean knew it was just to make Cas feel better, and he was pretty sure Cas knew that too, and he hoped that Cas appreciated it demon blood or not—and then the mattress was dipping as a second body joined Dean’s under the covers.

“Night,” he said, then realized how terse he sounded. He unclenched his fists and tried again. “I hope you sleep well.”

“... I hope you do too, Dean.”

He was able to relax, if only a little, once Cas stopped shifting and the sounds of breathing became longer and longer. Once Sam decided he’d spent long enough on watch he quietly climbed into the other bed. Through years of experience Dean knew the precise moment his brother passed out and he felt the knot in his chest loosen. He wasn’t on the verge of falling asleep by any means, but he felt like he could get there eventually, so of course the universe conspired against him by way of a soft touch on his shoulder.

Dean turned his head and met searing blue eyes. If Cas had been utterly pathetic when he asked Dean to stay with him then this was something that needed a whole other name. There was a thin layer of defiance and indifference like a soap bubble over a roiling mess of embarrassment and shame.

“I understand that it is irregular...” Cas swallowed hard. “However, even given that, I was... perhaps, if it will not trouble you...”

Dean sighed. If Cas asked him for any more tips on how to sleep like a human he didn’t know what he’d do. “Look, Cas, just out with it.”

Cas bit his lip— _not helping_ ¬¬¬—and in a small meek voice which did not fit him at all he asked, “Would you consider embracing me?”

The phrase ‘deer in the headlights’ didn’t do it justice. Dean had the wild thought that the universe was fucking with him. Or Gabriel. This seemed like something Gabriel might do. Was Gabriel fucking with him?

The warm pressure went away and Dean realized that his inner turmoil was showing on his face strongly enough for Cas to pick up on it. Dean also realized that Cas had been touching his own handprint, the one left when an angel grabbed a tortured soul tight and dragged it out of the pit. Dean wondered if the scar reminded Cas of what he used to be, what he used to be able to do. He wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He wondered why this had to be so hard.

Without making a conscious decision but really, what else could he do, Dean was scooting forward and sliding his arm around his angel’s middle. Cas’s face flickered with surprise, then more of the same shame and how they hadn’t drowned in the combined force of it Dean didn’t know, then this look of honest gratitude that left Dean feeling warm and shitty and a little breathless. It was things like that which reminded him of why this thing with Cas was more than just physical attraction and then also made him feel guilty about the physical attraction.

Cas was a mass of tension when Dean first touched him, but after a few moments he relaxed and wormed his own arm across Dean’s waist. They shifted for a while, trying to figure out the most comfortable way to lie together like that, finally settling with Cas’s face pressed into Dean’s chest. 

“I apologize,” Cas said, soft and low and muffled by Dean’s shirt. 

Dean hummed noncommittally and rested his chin on the top of Cas’s head. He tried not to focus on how good Cas smelled; it was a losing battle. Cas had some kind of thing for water and the whole shower business was one part of being human he actually seemed to like. The boys had let him try out about two dozen types of every bar and goo imaginable until Cas was able to settle on what had become his usual set. The shampoo smelled like coconuts. It was nice. Dean found himself stroking Cas’s hair without meaning to, and everything was so warm and nice and stupidly comfortable that he didn’t stop.

“S’okay,” Dean responded at last. He wasn’t sure exactly what Cas was apologizing for but he figured it was a lot bigger than wanting a hug.

Cas pulled back a little, tilting his head so he could look Dean in the eye. “You did this for your brother.”

It wasn’t a question. Cas knew him too well to ask questions like that. It was both reassuring and unnerving.

Dean decided to answer him anyway. “Yeah. After Sammy found out about what Dad was hunting, he had some trouble sleeping. Did better being all snugglebear.”

When he was a kid, Sam used this dumb shampoo that came in a bottle shaped like a fish. It smelled like strawberries, and Dean still associated the scent with simpler times when he was still taller than his little brother. When he could still protect Sammy. He wondered what would pop into his head when he smelled coconut from then on.

Cas was silent for a bit, wearing his ‘I am digesting what you just told me’ frown. Dean kept staring at him, because how can you not, and marveled at the lack of dirty thoughts in his head just before he got hit with the urge to kiss his angel. Dean squashed that quickly enough, and then Cas was talking again.

“You told me you had trouble sleeping after you learned of the ‘monsters under the bed’.” Dean could hear the air quotes and couldn’t help but grin. “You did not have anyone to comfort you as you comforted Sam.”

Dean’s smile faltered. It was another thing that was a statement and not a question. 

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to—“

“Oh shut it. It’s okay,” Dean interrupted, not sure he could handle any more of Cas’s guilt over the whole mess. He decided that was enough eye contact and pulled Cas’s head back against his chest. Cas didn’t fight it and after a minute Dean started stroking his hair again. Of course Cas was right. How could he not be; he was an Angel of The Lord. Except Dean was pretty sure that Cas hadn’t figured that out through angelic means. He just paid attention.

How scary was that?

“Your heart...” Cas murmured. 

“What about it?”

“S’good. Strong. Steady...” Cas answered drowsily. It wasn’t long before he drifted off. At first Dean thought he’d never get to sleep, what with the warm breath on his chest and the hand curled in the fabric of his shirt, but everything was warm and comfortable and _nice_.

Dean woke up to his little brother standing over him with one eyebrow pointedly raised. There were a few seconds between asleep and awake where Dean couldn’t figure out why Sam had that look on his face, then he registered the fact that he was holding someone, then he registered that the someone was Cas, then he might have had a very small panic attack. When he jolted it caused Cas to stir, and how could Dean not smile when met with the sight of a sleepy eyed, bed-headed angel? 

The gooey feeling must have shown on Dean’s face because both of Sam’s eyebrows were climbing towards his hairline. Cas blinked slowly—seriously he looked like an adorable kitten—and then his eyes went wide as he glanced over his shoulder and saw Sam. Cas quickly turned back to Dean and then shut his eyes tight as he flushed red. Dean remembered the whole ‘not proud but he still has his pride thing’ and how embarrassed Cas had been when he had asked Dean to hold him.

Dean watched his brother figure out the jist of all that mess in about two and a half seconds. Sam’s face dropped into something a little less surprised and he flipped the covers back.

“Come on guys! Dean, you’re the one who wanted to eat waffles at that place we passed last night and they only serve breakfast for another couple hours.”

Sam then acted like everything was completely normal and that it hadn’t been a shock to find his big brother fast asleep in a fallen angel’s arms. Dean was simultaneously annoyed at being caught and relieved that the act didn’t seem to be too much of an act. Sam was curious and it was probably killing him not sticking his nose into it, but aside from that he didn’t seem to be all that concerned. He was probably way too infuriatingly understanding to read anything into it.

Dean tried very hard not to remember the way Sam had looked at him when he got caught staring at a shirtless Cas, and tried very hard not to think that maybe Sammy actually was reading something into it but just didn’t mind if it was true.


End file.
